Hang Like a Star
by iS2.coheed.and.cambria
Summary: Death fic. Dean looses control of the Impala and they crash down a snowy hill.


**Title: **Hang Like a Star

**Author: **T (for depressing ness and language)

**Summary: Death fic **Dean looses control of the Impala and they crash down a snowy hill.

**Disclaimer: **Would you believe me if I said I did own Supernatural?

**A/N: **God I'm so sick and looking at this fic any longer and not posting it is making me sicker. I hope you guys like it even though death fics are sometimes hard to like…

**- - - - - - -**

"_And I hang like a star,_

_Fucking glow in the dark._

_For all those starving eyes to see._

_Like the ones we've wished on."_

_-'Something Vague' Bright Eyes_

- - - - - -

The impact was harder than what would be imagined, I suppose.

You think about car accidents and base any of the knowledge of what it would _feel_ like from when Joe Shmoe bumped you from behind. Just catches you off guard. You need a double take once you realize the car is just standing. But rolling nose first down a snowy hill and into a tree must feel different, right? It has to but you just don't have the information, the past _experience _to figure out the feeling without actually doing it.

I had no desire to find out what it felt like. That's not why I crashed the damn car.

It's not like we haven't had some experience with car accidents. A certain semi-truck gave us a slightly more vivid idea of what something like this would feel like. But there's something profound. Something strangely _poetic_ about driving up a snowy mountain for a hunt only to slide back down it before we could even get to the damn Wendigo.

And we thought we'd only be in danger once we got to the top. Ha.

It's strange. One second I'm laughing with Sam. One second we're thinking we have our whole goddamn _lives_ ahead of us. One second your driving up the hill talking about stopping at that dinner on the way back (to talk to that hot waitress) and the next second your sliding down the hill, impossibly fast. Pressing the breaks is a joke because that would only cause the car to flip over. So you just slide somewhat peacefully down the hill and wait for the inevitable crash weighting for you at the bottom. You just soar down this mountain that might as well be 100 ice. Like a big dip in a roller coaster only a little bit more fatal.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes before you kick the bucket. Well that's true and untrue. Because flying down that mountain wasn't exactly the end of my life but I still saw something. And that something I saw wasn't my entire life. It was my brother and me. Just Sam and me.

A montage of all the times in our lives I had to just _be_ for my brother. Every single 'It's all gonna be okay.' Every 'I gotcha.' Every time my brother needed me flashed before my eyes. Maybe to prepare me for what I would have to do after the lifetime long 15 seconds of our unceremonious descent to the bottom of the mountain was over. Maybe because that's the only thing that mattered.

I saw my brother wrapped in a holey blanket in some grungy motel room when he was only a year and a half. Crying. Baby Sammy was always crying. But I never cried. I couldn't even let an infant see tears in my eyes because he needed me. Because when he was two he tripped in a pothole in some dinner's parking lot and I rubbed his back and said "Let me see your knees." And even though I posses no strange supernatural healing powers it was like "It's ok, Sammy. Big brother's here," was the only medicine that could do_ anything_.

And we're flying down the mountain. Sam's screaming is the only relief in sight because Jesus, at least he's breathing.

Almost a fourth down the mountain I see Sam at five years old on the night he was exactly five years and six months. Five years after that fire, after the first night I had to just hold his brother and make everything ok. We had a motel room with two bedrooms for a change. Like it was a goddamn special occasion. Dad sent us off to bed early that night and told me to take Sam and go to the room. I listened, of course, and led my confused brother in, got him into bed and shut off the light. It only took say four minutes for the wails to come from the my fathers room and I took my brother into my arms, clammed my hands firmly over his ears and tried not to let tears fall.

I tried not to feel my father finally grieving.

"_Dean, why's Daddy screaming like that?"_

I think I just lifted him into my arms and sat him down in a chair by the window. I threw open the curtain and held him a little closer on my lap and whispered, _"Don't worry, Sammy. Just look at the stars, ok? Look at them twinkle… Do you remember that song, huh Sammy?"_

And we sung twinkle, twinkle little star until he fell asleep in my arms. Then I let the tears fall.

That was one of the many times I had to suck it up and be brave for my brother. That wasn't the first, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

Like when Sammy was seven.

He was so sick and dad had left us on one of his hunting trips. Just my baby brother and me. I was 11 but I was a little more like 111. I had to force that awful tasting liquid medicine down his throat. I had to control my emotions when he would whisper, _"Hurts," _over and over like some kind of torturous little mantra. I couldn't show my fear when he passed out even though he was after all _passed out_. I had to remain calm when I carried him to that ice bath and dumped him in. I had to try not to look hurt when he told me that now _I _was hurting him.

I was 11. But I was really some little twerp of a star. Glowing, twinkling in the darkness of his illness.

But I'm no star. I'm no light at the end of the tunnel. I mean I need to be for him but I don't seem myself as that savior as that constant stability even though I know that's what he views me as. I'm the one that has to cover his ears or close his eyes. I need to tell him everything is going to be fucking okay when it's not. God, I need to be big brother Dean for as long as possible even if it _kills_ me.

I did it when Sam was fourteen and his first crush turned him down. I needed to listen to what he did and tell him what he could have done differently. I had to try to convince him that the girl was a bitch and it had nothing to do with him.

I had to find a way to work around chick flick moments to be able to tell my brother just how fucking special he really is.

I did it every time he was hurt. I sometimes let my guard down and just let my brother use me and my fake positive energy as a medicine to whatever is bothering him. Be it physical or psychological pain. Whatever the pain, whatever the problem.

I'm big brother Dean and goddammit I better be here to save the day.

And when I start to see that oak tree ahead of me I know what's coming and I want to throw myself in front of my brother and be his human airbag. I want to save his life because that's what I was _made_ to do. I don't know if he'll survive this crash. Hell, I don't know if I will.

It makes me think of when we were driving far away from Palo Alto. Far away from the newfound pain of his college years and I looked over at my sleeping brother. Nightmares taking over him. The _fear_ and_ pain_ engulfing him like some kind of sick ocean. Pulling him deeper and deeper into darker waters and I didn't want to wake him because I wondered if I'd ever be able to get him to sleep again.

But I slowly pulled off to the side of the road and put the car in park. I put on my taillights because god knows we didn't need a car accident and I looked over at my brother. He was tossing and turning. He was mumbling and I swear he was crying in his sleep. So I reached up my hand and smoothed that unruly hair onto his head and whispered _"Shh… Sammy… It's ok… It's all gonna be ok… You're with family now… You're with your brother now, Sammy." _And I stopped and he seemed to be calming down a bit and I whispered, _"Just think of the stars, think of them shining so bright."  
_

And he's calm. Something about stars makes him calm again.

It's strange though. Probably the most confusing and baffling thing. The most feared thing in the world the universe, the stars. That's what Sam needs to calm him down.

This trip down memory lane comes to a screeching halt when the hood of my Impala connects with the unforgiving strength of that oak tree. My ass flies out of the seat and for a second I think I'm going out the windshield but that damn seatbelt saves me. I hit my head on the steering wheel and feel metal twist painfully into my legs, trapping me in this car.

My first thought is _oh my god! Impala_ but then maybe a millisecond later it's replaced with _oh my god! Sam_ and I curse myself for even thinking about the car. Because even though the Impala is my baby, it's really just a big hunk of metal when it's compared to Sam.

I fight against the pull of unconsciousness and surprisingly effectively fight it off. I regret it a little when I realize that I'm on my way to bleeding out. Because goddammit my legs are bleeding so much, I know it.

And then I think: Oh! So this is what it feels like!

I seem to forget about whatever's going on with me though when I hear my brother.

"De…"

"Ye…" I whisper pathetically. I guess metal crushed into your neck and chest makes it a bit awkward to talk.

I take a second to look around our surroundings. Snow has fallen covering most of the windshield. The windshield is cracked and I hope to god it doesn't fall through. The car is at a strange angle and gravity is pushing us deeper and deeper in to the car and the tree and god it hurts so much but I can't let him see. I can't let him see my pain.

"Are you… Ok?" Sam whispers.

I nod but then realize he probably can't see me so I say, "Yeah… you?"

I listen to his breathing and realize he probably knows I'm lying he whispers, "Been… Better…" and I know he's probably doing horribly.

I'm able to somehow turn my head a little to the right and see my brother. He's pressed like I am up against the dashboard, but I think I ended up taking the bulk of the hit. The tree mostly crashed into the side of the car I'm in. He has bumps and bruises and probably a concussion but it's all fixable.

I wait a couple minutes in the silence and then ask, "Phone?"

I see Sam shake his head as he says, "Crushed… A piece of it is… sticking into my… leg…"

I nod a bit and I notice Sam's breathing becoming a little bit more nervous.

"Dean… 'm scared…"

I know it's probably the effects of the concussion but it still _hurts_ to hear my brother is afraid. Terrified actually. Because if Sam was just scared he wouldn't say a thing. If he's terrified he's say he's scared. I can't let him see how much this terrifies me. I mean hell I can't let him see any of my emotions. When our dad died I had to wait for him to leave before I could vent how I really felt. I can't show him. I can't go to the bathroom or make him leave because we're trapped. We're fucking trapped in this car. And no one needs to even ask what we're going to do because we know there's nothing _to_ do.

I move my right arm from the awkward position it's found it's self in and somehow manage to find Sam's hand. He's startled at the sudden touch but then I realize how he's relaxing and I whisper, "Don't… worry… every… thing… okay…"

But Sam went to college. And he knows it's not going to be.

He's relaxed a bit but I know he's not completely. I don't know how to fix this so I do the only thing I can think of. The thing that's worked dozens of times before.

"Sammy… can… you… roll… down… window?"

Sam nods a bit and shifts his hand down awkwardly to the window control and pulls down the window little by little. We both shiver when we feel the cool air enter the car and I say, "Roll… it… up…"

Sam seems a bit confused but he does what I tell him – thank god.

When the windows back up he asks, "What?"

"Shh… look… at the… stars… Sammy… Just…" I trail off a bit more pathetically and just listen as the stars work their magic and Sam relaxes, fixated on the glowing stars in the dark of the night.

"I don't want… to go there… Dean," Sam suddenly whispers.

"Where?"

"To the stars."

Then I realize that Sam thinks he's going to die. And god that is just the goal of this whole protecting Sammy thing. He's never supposed to think he's going to die. My baby brother should never even have to think about his death because god I have nightmares about it too much as it is. This isn't supposed to be how it is. We were supposed to drive up this mountain, not slide down it. We were supposed to kill the Wendigo not, not even see it. We were supposed to drive home and Sam was going to let me have my time with the hot waitress and he was supposed to roll his eyes when I come home late and a bit drunk and we were supposed to just go to sleep. Then we would just wake up and drive to the next hunt and do something vaguely similar. We had a lifetime ahead of us. It's not supposed to end like this for us, it can't.

"You won't… Sammy… don't worry…. Stars… just… stars…"

"No, Dean."

And god I'm too tired to argue.

"I'm not just… gonna look at the… stars and pretend… we're not _dying…_ pretend you're not worse off than… I am…"

"Am not…"

"Are too!" he says with a bit more force. And I think, oh god he sees my weakness he sees me dying and bleeding out, he sees me not being able to fix all of this.

I squeeze his hand and hope that it's enough to make him shut up. I think it is because my grip is so weak so embarrassingly reminiscing of a dying man's grip. Sam shuts up and looks at me with this sympathy I never wanted from anyone before he nods and looks out the window.

I wince more at the sympathy than at the pain and try to control my breathing, because I'll be damned if I let Sam hear me wheezing like a girl. I started to lightly rub the part of Sam's hand where his thumb meets the top of his hand. It seems to be working because with the stars doing their job and me saying "shh" every few minutes Sam's calm. And even though I know his mind is probably racing with fear, on the outside he's just staring at the stars watching them glow through the face of death.

My body is starting to feel numb and I try to decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I mean sure I'm probably getting closer and closer to death but at least for right now it's reasonably pain-free. I look over at Sam again and now I can tell that he's wincing and probably in pain and I ask, "Sam… what's… wrong?"

Sam shakes his head a little and says, "Nothin',"

I frown a bit and whisper, "Tell… me…"

He's able to shift his head and look at me and he says, "Chest…" then he clenches his eyes shut and squeezes my hand, hard. After the pain's gone down he whispers, "God this sucks…"

I smile a bit and then realize it's getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open. Sam notices and says, "Stay awake, Dean…"

My eyes open quickly and gaze into my brother's tear-filled ones and there's nothing for me to say. He just stares at me. Piercing through my very _being_ and all I want to do is just have the strength to reach up and dry his tears and move that strand of brown hair out of his eye and just hold him. I just want to wrap my baby brother in my arms and never let go, but I _can't. _All our lives I avoided that bear hug. I've always tried to stop the chick flick moments from coming but now I just want the biggest one of them all and I don't even _care._

"It's… gonna… be… k…" I whisper.

Sam smiles sympathetically and says, "Come on, Dean."

I shake my head and say, "no… the ambulance… comin'… it's… comin'…"

Sam's eyebrows knit in more sympathy and he whispers, "We both know… no one's comin…"

"No…" I say and then I start to breakdown into painful sobs. I hear Sam trying to calm me down but I can't. I can't listen to my brother talk like this; I can't hear that he's not going to be ok. I sob out, "you're… gonna… be… okay… you… have to…. Be… okay…"

"Shh… I'm… sorry…" he whispers and suddenly let's go of my hand. I don't know what he's doing until I feel his hand cup my face and his thumb rub away my tears. This only makes me want to sob more and possibly crawl into a ball somewhere but I can't. And I can't keep letting him see my emotions either.

But before I have a chance to control myself I sob, "'m… supposed… to be… strong… for… you…"

Sam shakes his head and says, "No, no, no, you are…"

"Not… supposed… to…"

"Shh, Dean… relax… you are strong… n' I don't expect… anything from you… You've always… been there for… me… always…"

I smile a bit and then realize that all my life I've been telling Sam it's all gonna be okay. I've been making him all of these impossible promises like some kind of big brother politician. All my life 2 billion promises and I never listened to one. God, maybe if I had listened before I wouldn't have as hard a time excepting it now. Maybe if I'd listened I'd be able to relax now and actually believe there was some small chance everything would be ok. And I can say it as much as I want to Sammy and I can insist and insist but I can't believe it.

Sam's trailed off in to meaningless nonsense words like I usually do when I'm trying to calm him down he says, "You're right… it'll all be ok… Just stay with me…"

I nod a bit and try my freaking' hardest to stay awake with my brother. But in the distance I can hear it… My brother and I singing twinkle, twinkle little star. I know what I'm actually hearing is death so I'm fighting… Fighting so hard not to go to it but my body is weak and tired. And I just continue staring at Sam, my star glowing so damn brightly through this dark night and he's saying, "Don't, Dean… You stay awake… You promised everything would be… ok… You promised…"

I want to say I'm so sorry. I want to tell him he deserves a better brother than me. Someone who had the strength to stay awake forever if that's what it took. But god, I have no blood left in me. It's all at the bottom of this car and I just keep bleeding and bleeding and there's no way to stop it.

I hear 'you promised' mingled in with twinkle, twinkle little star and I see that I did promise.

Goddamitt I promised Sammy everything would be ok.

And I went and betrayed him.

- - - - - - -

**A/N: **Thanks for reading and please let me know what you thought!

-Lilia


End file.
